


Patron Saint of Huntsmen

by Relvetica



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Baby Werewolves, Gen, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 16:13:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Relvetica/pseuds/Relvetica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That's exactly what a werewolf would say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patron Saint of Huntsmen

Sirius's mother showed him the knife when he was seven years old and still full of facination with dark things. It's a stage most young boys go through; girls fall in love with unicorns and centaurs, but the boys curl their fingers into mock claws and bare their baby teeth as they stalk their younger brothers through the houses of their fathers. His mother did nothing about this new game at first, aside from pursing her lips disapprovingly in a very familiar way. His mother hates werewolves; she's a girl, after all.

She brought it out the night he leaped onto a table in his pursuit of Regulus and nearly destroyed the thing; she cleared her throat and both boys came to immediate attention out of long-standing habit. 

"So," she said, wearing a indulgent smile. "We have a werewolf on the loose?" 

"Not for real." Her tone of voice was strange, so he felt that this was an important point to stress. "Just pretend." 

"Oh, but that's what a werewolf would say, isn't it?" She turned away from them and opened the dusty glass cabinet behind her, and Sirius and Regulus crowded forward to get a better look. That case was full of sharp, dangerous artifacts, and it was always locked. "Let me show you something." 

The knife was old and shabby-looking; its sheath was crumbling leather, and the blade was black. She reached for Sirius and said, "Give me your hand." 

He complied; his hand was small and grimy against her palm. "This was a wedding gift from your great-grandfather," she said, lifting the knife so Sirius could get a better look. "It was specially dedicated in the cathedral in Liège for his grandmother's twentieth birthday." 

Sirius frowned. "Dedicated?" 

"For the slaying of dark creatures," she said, and brought the tip of the blade across the back of Sirius's hand. 

He gasped, but only from the shock of it; age had long since blunted the knife's edge, and it only left the thinnest of red marks. She examined it the way a fortune-teller would stare at a person's palm. "No," she finally said, "it looks like you're just a little boy." She let go, and Sirius snatched his hand away with a glare. 

"What would have happened if he was a werewolf?" Regulus asked, his eyes wide. 

She ran her thumb along the dull blade. "Silver is bad if it gets into a dark creature's blood." Her lips twitched into something like a smile. "A werewolf would be very sick by now." 

"Really?" Indignity forgotten, Sirius leaned forward to look at the knife again, but she was already resheathing it and moving to put it back in the case. 

"There was a time," she said, locking it with a touch, "when that knife got a lot of use. But no one in our family has used it in many, many years." 

"Why not?" 

She turned back towards them and gave them both a thoughtful look in turn. "Well," she finally said. "We have more civilized ways of dealing with them now." She said 'civilized' with a strange emphasis, like the word had got caught at the back of her throat.


End file.
